[center][h2][color=cyan]Sander Lorraine[/color][/h2]
[img]http://i65.tinypic.com/28hztyw.png[/img][/center]


It was never about control. It was the complete lack of it.

Sander failed to understand the drive behind his own resolve at times.

Sander knew very well the only reason they didn’t snuffed his miserable existence, despite all the hell he raised back in his early days. They wanted his frenzy, after all. They wished to harness that animalistic rage and turned it into a weapon. Was restrain his little form of rebellion? Was his control a childish persistence? Would it get in the way, when he needed to do what needed to be done? Had it? 

Then again, it didn’t not matter. Whatever pathetic determination he possessed always crumbled away the moment he set foot on the field, not unlike the specks of dry blood between his fingers. Perhaps that was for the best. He needed the craving to numb his emotions and deaden his fears. He wouldn’t be able to keep a clear head in the midst of battle otherwise. Well, to say that his head is clear would be erroneous. The correct word would be ‘focused’, since the craving demanded one thing, and one thing only. Nothing else mattered. In a way, he found the singularity relaxing. There was no doubt, no hesitation, no fear. Just a primal urge. Once submerged, he could drown so easily.   

Sander tore his gaze away from Christmas’ bloody form and turned toward where the battle raged. The scent of blood was thick in the air. Someone somewhere was bleeding, but Sander didn’t risk a glance. From the potency of the scent alone, he could tell that the blood must at least form a puddle right now. It was not a train of thought he would like to entertain. Before he could pick out a target to attack, one came running, or rather, skipping toward him. It was one of those giant doll-like creatures, its lumbering frame grew larger by the second. In the face of such monstrosity, Sander was actually thankful for the blood high. It spurred him on, taunting his lust for violence and taking his attention away from the tempting scent of fresh brew coffee nearby. As the doll drew closer, his body tensed, but he held his ground, still without violence. 

Then, in a split second, he broke off running. His feet barely touched the ground in his mad dash, intending to meet his attacker halfway. The creature towered over him like an old tree, its daunting height proved to be rather troublesome. He knew that he needed to close the distance. He needed to strike where it would hurt. He wanted to dig his fingers into its lolling eyes and spill the content of its head. But first, he would need to bring the thing to its knees. And that shouldn’t be too hard. Big things didn’t move fast, he would move faster. Or at least, that what he assumed, given the strange way these creatures moved. 

The coppery taste of blood lingered on his lips as he darted forward, ducking by the doll’s legs. Just as he was behind the creature, he twisted, launching a kick aimed at the crook of its grounded leg.